Sarah Versus What Might Have Been
by timewalker05
Summary: I really didn't Chuck versus the Beefcake. So a little cathartic exercise followed, the result of which is this story. It shows why Chuck and Sarah need each other. Warning: not a happy fic.


I wrote this story for **Poa**, for 'talking me down from the ledge' after _Chuck Versus the Beefcake_. She told me I should post it, so here it is.

I can't shake this dang cold, so I feel like crap. I hated Sarah in Chuck versus the Beefcake so I've been depressed over that. I finally figured out why. To me, Beefcake read like a bad fan fic, complete with familiar characters acting out of character and even a "Mary Sue" brought in as an OC love interest for one of the main characters.

So here is a little unhappy angst-fest to share the mood.

On many of the forums, there is something of a consensus that Chuck needs to "man up" if he is going to win Sarah. So herein I answer the question of 'What if Chuck really did "man-up" at the end of Beefcake?'

SARAH VERSUS WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN

The ceremony was held in the largest courtyard at Langley. Only CIA employees were present – the ceremony itself was secret. No one would know, until the records were sealed fifty years hence, what went on today. No one except those present and they would remember it for the rest of their lives.

The attractive blonde stood at the far edge of the crowd, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the man of the hour. A man she had not seen, in person anyway, for nearly fifteen years. Even after all these years the wound was still raw. She reached up and wiped her eyes; telling herself it was just the sun and wind that was making them water.

The murmuring in the courtyard died away as CIA Director Nelson Andrews stepped up to the podium. A career politician, he approached the podium with the air of one used to such crowds. He smiled his politician smile at the assembled throng and began.

"Thank you all for coming. As you know, today we are here to honor one of our own. In an unjust world, one of the greatest injustices is that those who preserve our way of life, those who protect us, those who do heroic deeds, cannot be publicly recognized and given the adulation, the recognition that they deserve. No one knows of their great deeds, of their sacrifices. No one knows what they have suffered to defend our very way of life, our freedom. Inside this building is our Memorial Wall, with its ninety-three stars that honor those who have given their all in the cause for which we fight. But we must honor these other heroes less publicly. But we honor them none-the-less.

"As I said, today we honor one of our own. A member of our fraternity who has distinguished himself again and again in his service to his country. A man who did not chose this life, but had it thrust upon him. I wish I could tell you his story. To tell you of the deeds that he has performed; the lives he has saved. Alas, I cannot. You have heard the rumors, the legends which have grown up around him. I can only assure you that the legends do not tell half the story."

"I now call upon retired General Diane Beckman, former Director of the National Security Agency and former Chief of the Central Security Service, to present this award. Diane."

An older woman in a General's uniform which no longer had the tailored fit of when she was on active duty, her hair now more grey than the red which had been her trademark, stepped to the podium. "Thank you, Director Andrews." She nodded to the man seated to her left and smiled.

The man stood and the blonde bystander felt her chest contract and her breath catch. He still had the same curly brown hair, although there was now a touch of grey at the temples. Still the same slightly mischievous smile as he took General Beckman's hand and kissed her cheek. But the eyes. Even from here, she could see that his eyes had changed. They had always been so warm, so merry. Eyes that you look into and fall forever. Eyes of innocence and wonder. Nut those eyes were gone. In their place were the eyes she had seen all too often here at CIA headquarters. Cynical eyes. Weary eye. Eyes that even now darted among the crowd, looking for the concealed danger, the hidden threat. It broke her heart to see those eyes.

General Beckman picked up a piece of parchment colored paper and held it up. Her hands shook slightly, the early on-set of Parkinson's. "Know all men by these presents: By special order of the President of the United States, and with the unanimous consent of the Senate Intelligence Committee and the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, you are hereby directed and required to present this special Medal of Honor for work above and beyond the call of duty in service to his country, to Special Agent Charles Carmichael, Central Intelligence Agency. He shall enjoy all the rights and privileges appertaining to such honor. Signed, Harriett Barstow, President of the United States; Miguel de la Fuentes, Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee; and Peter Davidson, Chairman of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence."

General Beckman set down the paper and picked up a long ribbon, at the end of which dangled a gold medal in the shape of a star. Agent Carmichael bowed his head and General Beckman slipped the ribbon around his neck. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

Agent Carmichael stepped to the podium. No fumbling, nervous nerd, the blonde saw; but a distinguished confident man who looked at ease in front of the crowd. He bowed slightly to acknowledge the cheers and applause and waited for it to die down.

'Thank you, Diane, Director Andrews," he said, a slight nod to each in turn. He turned to the assembled crowd. "And thank you for coming here to share this honor with me." He looked out at all the expectant faces and took a breath. "I don't deserve this honor. If this honor belongs to anyone, it belongs to my partner, my mentor, Colonel John Casey. It's funny to think of what John would think if he could see me up here today. Probably, 'Carmichael, you puke, that medal is for courageous and honorable members of the United States military, not little puke agents like you.'" There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd. "For those of you really old timers who knew John Casey back in the old days, it's hard to believe, but John's wit and sage counsel got me through many a tough time. I owe the agent I am today to John's patience and wisdom. Not to mention that I wouldn't be alive today if I didn't have him to watch my back." He looked upward and held up the medal, but the blonde noticed that there wasn't the pain in his eyes she would have expected, or even tears; just that world weariness she had noted before. "This is for you, John," Carmichael said. There was a smattering of applause.

"I am often asked, 'What makes a good agent?' I have thought long and hard about this and all I can say is: a willingness to sacrifice. A willingness to put the greater good before your own wants and needs. To realize that we serve the greater good, and that sometimes means that we have to sacrifice everything, even who we are, to see that the mission is completed. That our country is protected. The life of an agent is lonely. We are not the front line in our country's defense; we are often in front of the front line. I have been extremely fortunate in that I have a partner who understands the sacrifices I have been called upon to make and has stood by my side through it all." He turned to a stunning blonde sitting on the dais next to him and held out his arm. The woman stood, hugged him, and gave him a passionate kiss.

The rest of his words were drowned out by the cheers and applause. Director Andrews shook his hand. General Beckman gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hug to his wife.

The blonde at the back of the crowd felt her knees go weak. One of her co-workers took her arm. "Are you all right?" the co-worker asked.

"Fine. Fine," the blonde replied, looking away so her friend would not see the pain in her eyes. Pain that stretched back across the years. The pain of what might have been.

She was taken back to that day; the day that her world fell apart. The day that He did the one thing that she never expected: he let her go.

**********************

"Cole's been captured. By Fulcrum we believe."

"Oh my God. That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"Chuck, he knows you're the Intersect. We have to go into 24 hour protective detail until further notice."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means we can't break up and we have to move in together."

"No."

"What?"

"No. Cole's a tough guy, he won't talk."

"Chuck, everybody talks."

Chuck shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Sarah, we can't go back to where we were before. We do this dance where we're so close, and then you pull away. I can't take it anymore. Either we have a future or we don't."

Sarah was angry now. "Chuck, if Cole talks you won't have a future."

Chuck hung his head. "I don't have a future now. I thought I might."

"What are you saying, Chuck?"

"I'm tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of…" He paused and looked at her. "Just tell me the truth. For once. The truth. Is there any hope for us? Any hope at all?"

Sarah looked at him, her lips trembling, but she said nothing.

Chuck turned his back on her and stormed across the courtyard to Casey's apartment, Sarah trailing after him. He banged on the door.

"What is it, Bartowski?" Casey growled.

"Get General Beckman," Chuck demanded.

"Wait," Sarah said. "Chuck, what are you doing?"

"I'll agree to 24 hour protection," Chuck said. "Casey can do it. You can watch from Casey's apartment, whatever. But I am not agreeing to get back together."

Casey smiled and it was not a nice smile.

"I'll get General Beckman."

"Wait!" Sarah ordered.

"What?" Casey asked.

"Fine," Sarah said. "We'll do it your way, Chuck. Casey, we're in 24 hour lockdown."

"I already was," Casey said. "But since you're here, you take the first shift."

"No," Chuck said. "Get me General Beckman."

Casey shrugged and went to his computer. A moment later, the face of General Beckman appeared. "What is it?" she asked, abruptly.

"May I speak to the General in private?" Chuck asked.

"General, I…" Sarah started to say.

"Give us a moment," General Beckman said.

Sarah and Casey stepped outside and stood in awkward silence until the door opened and Chuck said, "The General would like to speak to you."

The two agents shuffled into the room and stood in front of the monitor. "I am assigning Agent Forrest to Operation Bartowski," General Beckman said. "Agent Walker, you are relieved effective immediately. I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning at 0930."

"But General," Sarah started to say.

"End of discussion, Agent Walker. Agent Casey, the asset is in your custody until Agent Forrest arrives."

"Yes ma'am," Casey said and the screen went blank.

"Chuck, can I talk to you?" Sarah asked.

Chuck looked like a man defeated. He stumbled out into the Courtyard.

"What did you tell Beckman?" Sarah hissed. Visions of the end of her career dancing before her eyes.

"Just that I was no longer comfortable with you as my handler and I thought it would be best for all concerned if she assigned another handler."

"Just like that?" Sarah asked.

"Just like what?" Chuck asked. "Sarah, we've danced around this for two years and you have never, never given me a straight answer. So I've done what I had to do. I set you free."

"Free?"

"No more lies. No more cover relationships. No more awkward moments. You're free."

"Chuck…"

"I love you, Sarah Walker," Chuck said.

He waited for a reply and when none came, he turned his back on her and started walking back toward his apartment.

*************************

Sarah sat in the airport terminal, waiting for her flight. She kept glancing over at the entrance, expecting Chuck to come running through the doors to tell her it had all been a mistake and he didn't want her to go.

She was a day late for her meeting with Beckman already. When Chuck had a flash that told Casey where Cole was being held, Sarah defied orders and went with Casey to break him out. They were successful and a large part of the local Fulcrum cell was killed or captured. Cole was whisked off to a secret facility to recover. He asked Sarah to go with him, but wasn't surprised when she declined.

They called her flight and Sarah waited until the boarding doors were about to close. She glanced one last time over at the entrance, hoping to see Chuck, but finally the ticket agent practically pushed her onto the plane.

When she finally arrived at General Beckman's office, the General made her wait. Finally, the General's secretary said, "General Beckman will see you now."

Sarah stood and walked slowly into the office. Beckman sat behind her desk. Interim CIA Director Holliman sat at a chair opposite her. Sarah entered and stood before the General's desk, equidistant from the General and Director Holliman.

"Agent Walker," General Beckman said coldly. "I am not accustomed to having my orders ignored."

"I am sorry, General. We received intel on the whereabouts of Agent Barker…"

"You disobeyed a direct order."

"Ma'am, in the past, when extenuating circumstances…"

"I gave Team Bartowski leeway because of the difficulties in working with a civilian asset who could be rather… unpredictable. You are no longer a member of Team Bartowski and no longer fall under that umbrella."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why did you stay beyond your recall?"

"To assist in the retrieval of Agent Barker."

"Yes. Agent Barker. You stayed because you were compromised with Agent Barker."

"What?" Sarah asked, aghast. "I don't know what anyone told you…"

"No one told me anything. When Agent Barker was captured, I had my aide go through the video surveillance at the Castle. We discovered this…."

She hit a button and the video of Sarah and Cole kissing filled the screen. Sarah tried to turn away, but couldn't.

"A foreign intelligence operative with sensitive information regarding our greatest intelligence resource and you're fawning over him like some teenager."

Sarah was speechless. Director Holliman stood. "Agent Walker, you are hereby placed on immediate suspension from all field duties pending retraining. Frankly, your exemplary field service to date is the only reason we have not fired you. You were always director Graham's fair haired girl, but Graham is dead. You've shown a dreadful inability to separate your personal and professional life. Perhaps with six months back at the academy will teach you how an agent performs in the field."

"Dismissed," Beckman said.

Sarah held back the tears until she was out of the General's office.

***********************

That had been nearly fifteen years ago. She had tried going back to fieldwork, but something had changed. She lacked the killer instinct that had served her so well in her previous assignments. Another legacy of her time with Him. She had spent the last ten years working as an analyst at Langley. Through her contacts her at the agency, she had followed the career of the rising new star, Special Agent Charles Carmichael and his legendary exploits throughout the world.

She had taken a full week off and cried in her room when she heard that he had gotten married to his then partner, the pretty blonde agent on the stage with him.

She had never married. Never really had a long-term relationship. She had plenty of male companionship – a beautiful woman had no trouble attracting male attention. But she could see it in their eyes. None of them ever looked beyond the surface, beyond the nice curves and the pretty face. She looked and looked for a pair of warm brown eyes that would look at her the way His had, but no one ever did. Not that she ever let anyone get close enough to get to know the real her, anyway.

Molly Grisham f/k/a Agent Sarah Walker watched Special Agent Charles Carmichael f/k/a Chuck Bartowski and his wife walk down from the dais into the sea of well-wishers. She turned to her co-worker. "It's a little cold. Let's go inside and get back to work."


End file.
